ire has himself been up to London about your commission, and
has arranged it all. He has, as he will tell you in his letter, got you
a commission in the regiment commanded by Colonel Otway, which is to go
out next spring. He was introduced to the commander in chief by his
friend, and told him that you had been acting as Colonel Washington's
aide-de-camp with General Braddock, and that you have now gone to join
General Johnson's army; so the duke said that, though you would be
gazetted at once, and would belong to the regiment, you might as well
stay out there and see service until it arrived; and that it would be a
great advantage to the regiment to have an officer, with experience in
Indian fighting, with it. I cried when he brought me back the news, for
I had hoped to have you back again with us for a bit, before you went
soldiering for good. However, the squire seems to think it is a capital
thing for you. Mr. Wilks thinks so, too, so I suppose I must put up
with it; but Aggie agrees with me, and says it is too bad that she
should never have seen you, once, from the time when she saw you in
that storm.

"She is a dear little girl, and is growing fast. I think she must have
grown quite an inch in the five months you have been away. She sends
her love to you, and says you must take care of yourself, for her
sake."

The squire, in his letter, repeated the news Mrs. Walsham had given.

"You are now an ensign," he said, "and, if you go into any more fights
before your regiment arrives, you must, Mr. Wilks said, get a proper
uniform made for you, and fight as a king's officer. I send you a copy
of the gazette, where you will see your name."

Mr. Wilks's letter was a long one.

"I felt horribly guilty, dear Jim," he said, "when the news came of
Braddock's dreadful defeat. I could hardly look your dear mother in the
face, and, though the kind lady would not, I know, say a word to hurt
my feelings for the world, yet I could see that she regarded me as a
monster, for it was on my advice that, instead of coming home when you
got your discharge, you remained out there and took part in this
unfortunate expedition. I could see Aggie felt the same, and, though I
did my best to keep up their spirits, I had a terrible time of it until
your letter arrived, saying you were safe. If it had not come, I do
believe that I should have gone quietly off to Exeter, hunted up my box
again, and hired a boy to push it for me, for I am not so